


Down the Garden Path

by Dammigalg



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: Bathtubs, Dandy is a brat, Discipline, M/M, Spanking, Stuffed Toys, dubcon, suggested but no actual harm of an animal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dammigalg/pseuds/Dammigalg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dandy finds a new obsession.<br/>(Pre-show timeline)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Down the Garden Path**

Dandy Mott was still in his neatly pressed pajamas, a fine velvet robe with his initials stitched into the breast pocket surrounded him, cinching his lithe waist. He leaned one shoulder against the box window in his bedroom, spying on mother's new gardener who worked in the still-dewy grass of the expansive, lush backyard of their impressive home. The man was large and thick, with fingers like sausages and a coarse looking beard clinging to his chin and neck. He wore a dirty pair of overalls with a stained, soft-cotton shirt beneath and mopped at his brow with a rag that looked like it was once part of a flannel over-shirt.

Sipping at the juice from the tray Dora had placed at his side moments ago, the young man cocked his head to the side and rested it against the wall in boredom. Ever since mother let his tutor go and declared him educated, the days seemed to drag on with little to stimulate the young, wealthy man.

The new gardener seemed foreign and yet familiar all at once. His broad shoulders had an everyman quality but his leathery skin and the dark hair, thick as fur on the tops of his arms, made him seem exotic and alien in a way he hadn't often observed in Jupiter. However, the young man's interest in common people was limited and often fleeting and he was about to turn his attention to his breakfast when the gardener pulled a knife from his pocket. Dandy found himself suddenly rapt.

The knife was long and thick looking, dark gray from years of use and sat in the man's paw like it was crafted to rest there. Dandy's forehead made a soft thudding noise as it slid into the window.

The gardener dipped suddenly, gracefully almost, sinking the knife maliciously into the ground in the yard. He gave it a sharp twist and withdrew it, revealing a bloody smear along the edge of the blade. He wiped the knife against the grass before letting it fall back into the holster on his hip.

Dandy smudged at the window with his sleeve where his breath against the glass had begun to cloud his vision. Spellbound, he watched as the big man stuck a spade to the ground and buried it with one heavy stomp of his boot, tipped it back, and unearthed the carcass of a fat mole. The creature's abnormally large, clawed feet flopped uselessly and the gardener smacked the grass back down before picking up the beast and carrying it off by its back leg carelessly.

He watched the empty yard for a few minutes, the juice in his hands forgotten, sucking at the air through pursed, plump lips, the coiled curls of hair that rested on his forehead damp with perspiration. The summer had, thus far, been a dreadful bore for the well-to-do lad stuck who seldom ventured far from his mother's apron strings despite having well-surpassed the ages of pubescence.

"Dora!" Dandy bellowed, stepping lively across the playroom that served as his bedroom, "Take this tray away."

His nursemaid and caretaker entered the room with an exhausted curve in her lower back. She looked at the untouched tray and back to the boy who had shed his robe into a silken pool of fabric on the floor. He flung open the doors to his massive closet and observed the sea of pastels with a serious look of concentration in his detached eyes.

"You haven't eaten a thing for your breakfast, young man," Dora scolded, leaving the tray in place on the small table amidst the puppet theater and the rows of stuffed animals that lined the marbled floors. "Get over here and eat a proper meal, Dandy." No one living could hear the breathless curse that followed the command.

"I'm busy," Dandy insisted, tossing a hand in the air without turning to look, "Take away the tray like I said."

The overworked nursemaid hefted the tray in her hands and gave the obnoxious manchild a look of exasperation as he shed his pajama top and let it cascade to the floor before kicking his pants in the other direction. Dora left the bedroom, muttering beneath her breath about the spoiled brat in her care.

Shrugging into a peach colored shirt over his undershirt and buttoning it up before pulling a white sweater vest over that, Dandy inspected his naturally nearly hairless legs in the full mirror that made up the entire far wall of his expansive closet. He stepped into a pressed pair of slacks pulled his socks on each foot before selecting his black and white oxford saddles from the rows of shoes that filled one section of his walk-in closet. He stood with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his toes pointed inward as he combed his hair meticulously in front of the mirror, carefully maintaining the curls that laid on his forehead.

Satisfied with his look, Dandy spun on his heels and stomped through the fake grass that ran along the middle of his play room, the leather of his shoes snug on his feet. His footfalls rang loud against the marble stairs that wound round the middle of the mansion in a grand flourish. As he made his way down, Dandy spotted his mother moving from one room to the next. She had a habit of looking incredibly busy for a woman with almost nothing to accomplish each day.

"Dandy," She said, her voice when addressing her son and her servants was always the same, commanding tone. "Dora says you refused your breakfast this morning."

"Much to do today, Mother," Dandy said, seething on the inside slightly but letting nothing register on his face as he continued to float down the stairs.

One eyebrow slid up mother's porcelain brow in curiosity but she did not dare to ask. Instead she said, "All the more reason to satisfy your hunger, darling."  _Darling_ rolled off her tongue effortlessly and with the same affection one might reserve for making a shopping list or providing simple directions.

Dandy jumped the last few steps and felt a small victory when his mother's mouth cinched like a coin purse. Then he twisted to the side and strode out the front door, ignoring his mother's shrill protest that he stay inside and not expose himself to the elements.

The grounds of the estate were quite large but not so massive that the young man couldn't easily locate the gruff looking gardener with relative ease. He was kneeling by mother's azaleas, yanking weeds and smoothing the mulch that surrounded each bush.

When Dandy's slender shadow blocked the beating sun, the large man turned to look at the youngster who wore a sharp, fake smile on his perfect face. A simple grunt was all the gardener would muster in acknowledgement.

"Dandy Mott," he introduced himself, thrusting a stiff arm in the kneeling man's direction. When the gardener lifted his hand from the garden bed it was calloused and weathered, caked in moist soil. Dandy withdrew his offer of a handshake back and coiled his arm back quickly as if he was fearful of getting burned, absent mindedly brushing a hand down his sweater vest. The gardener observed him with calm, dark eyes, sizing up the absurd creature in front of him. "I'm the man of the house," Dandy added, feeling the man's gaze bore through him in the uncomfortable, dull silence, "Gloria's son."

Another grunt from the man and a slow nod before he turned away from his visitor to return to his work.

A frustrated look passed Dandy's soft face and he quickly snapped, "Where did you put it?"

The man didn't spring back, but instead he put his hand on one knee and pushed himself up to stand. He was a whole head taller than Dandy and about three times as broad. "Put what, son?" His voice was deep and tired and he pulled his flannel rag out and pressed it to his brow.

"The...the mole, of course," Dandy said, his chin lifted to look at the man. His sheltered life left him with his mother and Dora most of the time and both of them were shorter than him. The sheer size of the man who stood before him made Dandy swallow and stare before blinking the indignation back onto his face. "I saw you kill the mole. Can I see it? Can I see your knife?" Excitement eked into his voice.

The gardener stroked his slightly stubbled chin and frowned at the boy.

Dandy squirmed. He couldn't take the contemplative insubordination of his mother's yard servant. "What's your name?" He demanded, rising up on his toes a moment in frustration to emphasize the urgency of his question.

"Pawel," the gardener said, his bushy eyebrows flexing at the young man. He turned back and knelt once again, no longer interested in neglecting his work for the childish son of his employer.

"Pav-ill? Pav-eel?" Dandy rolled the strange name around in his mouth a moment, a wrinkle of curiosity on his smooth forehead. When the man made no attempt to help him find the correct pronunciation, Dandy tapped him on the shoulder with one finger, cautious not to touch any dirty part of the man's shirt. "You haven't shown me to the mole."

"It's gone," Pawel said gruffly, offering no other explanation.

"Gone?" Dandy asked, balking slightly.

Pawel continued to ignore him, enjoying the way the kid still inadvertently blocked the sun from his eyes.

Dandy's hands made tight fists when he realized the man wasn't planning on entertaining him in the slightest. The gardener ran his hands deftly over the flower bed and moved along to the side as he worked. Dandy wanted to kick him in his skeevy, patched-up, poor-people overall-clad behind. Instead, he spied the knife on his belt and decided to take matters into his own hands.

Moving so quickly, he got a grass stain on the pristine white leather of his right shoe, Dandy leapt forward and wrenched the knife from its holster attached to the man's belt. He stepped back the moment he had the heavy blade in his mitts, breathing heavy from excitement, the corners of his mouth pulling up uncontrollably into the first real smile he'd had all month.

Pawel reached back and felt around the empty holster then rose to his feet to confront the thief. "Give it back, son, that's no toy," he announced, taking a step toward Dandy with his palm out.

"I'm not your  _son_ ," Dandy said, his face still pulsing with glee. He looked at the knife in his hand and turned it, inspecting the intricate handle of worn, shining wood and brassy metal. It was clearly very old. "You should call me Mr. Mott."

"Hand it over, kid," the gardener said, taking another step toward the squirming man who backed up all the more, dangerously close to a wheelbarrow full of supplies. "Stop it, you're going to get hurt."

"I'm keeping this," Dandy said, "Tell mother to pay you for it, if you must." He was enthralled by the blade. It was obvious that Pawel took good care of it and made it sharp, oiled the wood, kept it clean.

"No," Pawel said, advancing further. Dandy attempted to run but ran into the wheelbarrow, sending it to the ground and spilling the topsoil and tools to the grass in a loud crash. He would have fallen too if Pawel hadn't caught him by his wrist to keep him from tumbling over. The large worker's hand enclosed his wrist tightly, smearing Dandy with the dirt that clung to it.

"Uhg! Let go of me!" Dandy hollered, horror in his voice as he looked at the filthy fingernails of the hand that held him far too roughly. For a moment, it seemed like the young man was going to thrust at Pawel and stab him with the knife, but in his hesitation, the gardener employed his long reach and secured Dandy's other wrist as well, shaking the knife from his grip where it landed in the soft grass with a thud.

"Don't touch my knife," Pawel said, finally letting go of the boy and bending to pick up his dagger and return it to its holster.

Dandy rubbed ruefully at his wrists and glowered at the man. He smeared at the dirt on his clothing, his eyebrows knit together in fury. "Wait until my mother sees what you've done to my outfit!" he threatened, "You...you stupid man."

Pawel waved the kid off and returned to his work without so much as a backward glance. Dandy kicked at the wheelbarrow uselessly, adding another scuff to his shoes before stomping toward the house in an absolute rage.

"Mother?!" Dandy hollered as he entered the mansion, projecting his voice as loudly as he could, indignation still thick in his tone. He slammed the door behind him as he entered and shouted for her again.

She appeared rather quickly, not a fan of Dandy's loud outbursts that echoed off the walls of their cavernous space. "Dandy, whatever is the matter? What are you shouting about?" She looked annoyed, it was too early in the morning and her pills had barely had time to take effect. She pressed on the right temple of her face as she examined her son who stormed toward her in one of his fits.

"The gardener assaulted me, mother," he announced, gesturing to the smudges on his shirt sleeves as hard evidence, a serious look on his face..

"Oh Dandy, not again," Gloria pleaded. "Dora can wash that out of your shirt. You know how difficult it has been for me to find a proper gardener since...well for a long time now. I need you to stay away from Paul."

"Pav-eel, not  _Paul,_ mother!" Dandy corrected in disgust.

"Yes, well, whatever he wants to be called," Gloria waved a hand dismissively. "You stay in the house Dandy, and away from that man. Let him do his work. I simply can't go another year with our yard looking like a jungle." She pushed past him and into the lounge where she could set herself on the settee and close her eyes while holding onto her head.

"Fine, mother," Dandy crushed out through his clenched teeth. He fled the room and took to the stairs, stopping half way up the first curve and turning to the foyer. Dora stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fixing him with a sour look. "Have my shoes buffed!" He demanded, stepping on the back of each one and then kicking them off his feet and down the stairs with loud, satisfying thumps.

"Watch where you kick things," Dora scolded, bending to pick up the shoe that very nearly punctured a canvas oil painting that hung on the far wall.

Dandy gave her a look of pure defiance before untucking his shirt and pulling it, sweater vest and all, up over his head and whipping it down to the center of the floor in the grand foyer. "If the stains don't come out, Pawel will have to pay for that shirt out of his wages!" he snarled, his stocking feet slapping on the steps.

Once in his playroom, Dandy slammed the doors and turned the silver key to lock them. He stood in the window, shirtless and shivering with passion, looking down on the gardener who had righted the wheelbarrow and was now shoveling the spilled topsoil back into the rusty metal body. "I hate you," Dandy whispered, his hands fumbling over his wrists where the big man had squeezed him so hard. No one had ever put their hands on Dandy Mott and young man was torn between acrimony and curiosity. His wrists didn't hurt but he still felt the tingle of Pawel's touch.

Turning from the sight below and completely unable to handle even the slightest upset in his emotions, Dandy took his anger out on his toys, kicking a stuffed dog across the room and turning over a table of craft supplies, sending everything skittering across the floor. With an annoyed grunt, he knocked over the puppet theater, sending it crashing from it's stage. Satisfied that his mother had to have heard the noise, he threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in the linen spread. After several minutes had passed and no one had come up to check on him, he reached his arms out and clutched his favorite stuffed toy, pulling it to his naked chest for comfort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Down the Garden Path**

_**Chapter 2** _

With small, sharp flicks of his wrist, Dandy flapped the paper fan in has hand toward his face while lounging on the seldom used chaise on the terrace overlooking the backyard. Splayed out like ancient Egyptian royalty, Dandy wore his tennis whites and a pink pastel sweater wrapped around his shoulders, tied by the sleeves in front of his chest. He sipped lemonade from a tall glass with a straw set on a small table beside him and a canopy umbrella over his head shaded him from the sun but did little for the humidity.

Not far from the elevated stone platform, Pawel the gardener was pushing a heavy lawn mower across the lawn, a raucous, constant grind emitting from the machine.

Gloria turned her face back in disgust as she opened the door to the patio and the noise from the mower reached her ears. With a shake of her head, she stepped cautiously out onto the stone deck as if the sun might set her ablaze and walked to Dandy's side.

"Darling," she began, her son's gaze was fixed on the gardener and he didn't so much as flinch when she spoke, let alone turn his head in acknowledgement. "Won't you come inside? The heat is unbearable and the humidity isn't good for the lungs, Dandy. Come inside and I'll have Dora make you your favorite lunch, hm?"

Dandy flourished the fan at her dismissively, eyes still set forward onto the yard. "No, mother, that's boring."

"Dora has tried to fix your puppet theater, Sweetheart, but you've broken one of the supports," Gloria tried a different approach to lure her son into the cooler temperatures of the house, "I'm afraid we're going to have to throw it away."

This news had the desired effect. Dandy snapped his head to look at his mother, his eyes unnerving her slightly for a split second before she regained her almost perpetual poise. "No!" Dandy said, setting his lemonade down on the table loudly and sitting up from his lounging position. "No, I love my puppet theater, we bought it in Paris!"

"I know, darling, but there is nothing that can be done," Gloria insisted, "Won't you come in and take a look for yourse-"

"Dora is useless when it comes to fixing my things," Dandy announced angrily, his hands gripping at the arms of his reclining chair far too tightly. He was about to get up and let her know for himself when his sweeping gaze became stuck, once again, on Pawel. A small smile wormed onto his face, "Mother!" he said, a wave of happy resolution filling his voice that only seconds earlier had been a growl, "I have an idea. Ask Pawel to fix it. He knows how to use tools better than Dora, I'm certain."

"Why Dandy!" Gloria declared, a short puff of haughty laughter filled her chest to display her disbelief, "He's the gardener, darling, he doesn't come inside the house."

Dandy had been watching the man again but his mother's reluctance wrenched his attention away once again. "Ask him, mother!" he demanded, a hint of warning in his tone.

Gloria looked out across the yard at the sweaty worker who had so recently captured her son's attention. For the last three days, Dandy had spent his time alone on the terrace, sipping drinks and watching the man work. He had never looked so tan before and it didn't suit him. She pursed her lips and looked down at her son, a storm brewing behind his dark, cold eyes. The last thing she needed in this extreme heat was a tantrum. "Very well," she conceded, "If that is what you want."

"Excellent!" Dandy said, clasping his hands once to emphasize his delight before pushing himself to his feet. "I'll prepare my room and you send him up right away."

"Dandy, he's very busy at the moment," Gloria protested but her words were ignored as she watched her son slip back into the house on a mission. With the proper motivation, Dandy could be like a dog with a bone, obsessed and driven. She sighed and looked out into the grass at the hulking man she had recently hired as a groundskeeper, wondering how she could manage to get his attention over the noise of the machine without venturing out into the grass.

Upstairs, Dandy found Dora in his playroom, attempting to reassemble his puppet theater. His lip curled up over his perfect teeth before he spoke, "Don't touch that, Dora!" The rest of his room had been restored in the aftermath of this tantrum. His craft table was righted and all the supplies neatly stored; his stuffed animals were lined in rows and the bed was made.

"I'm trying to fix it," Dora said, her brow knitting together as she looked at the man in thinly veiled disgust.

"Your slipshod tinkering won't be necessary,  _maid_ ," Dandy said, addressing the woman who practically raised him as if he was above remembering her name, "Mother is sending Pawel up to fix it properly."

Dandy crossed the room, ignoring her, and peered out the window where he saw his mother making her way through the grass uneasily toward the working man. He smiled and turned back to Dora, his eyes wide with superiority. "She's sending him up right now, and he's been working hard outside today so you'll need to fix a tray of refreshments and bring it up immediately." The tops of Dandy's knees were patchy with sunburn below his tennis shorts. He maintained his fake smile while waiting for Dora to obey his command.

"Mmm mmm mmm," Dora said, shaking her head, "Your mother." It was clear Dora didn't approve of Gloria's constant bending toward Dandy's will and the young man was keenly aware of her protests.

"He'll be up here soon!" Dandy said, losing his patience for the woman, "Go now, so I can be a proper host!" He pointed to the doors to his playroom with a stiff arm, his bossy tone did nothing to motivate Dora. She'd told him many times that she worked for Gloria and not him, but over the years she had learned to pick her battles. Dandy watched her cross the room and exit before springing into action, arranging his stuffed animals perfectly and closing the doors to his closet for a tidier look.

It was nearly half an hour before Dandy heard the Dora's voice, leading Pawel to his bedroom. He smeared the crumbs from the shortbread cookie he was eating off his lips with the back of his wrist and sprang to his feet, straightening his clothing quickly and glancing around and finally at the tray Dora had brought. The iced tea was sweating from the long wait.

"In here," Dora said kindly, opening the door for Pawel who looked at the massive, pastel playroom with no small amount of surprise but the emotion passed his face quickly when he saw Dandy standing in the middle of the room with a strange smile on his face. Dora rolled her eyes before disappearing, shutting the door loudly behind her which caused Pawel to turn and look behind him at the now closed doors.

"Welcome," Dandy smiled, holding his arms out to his sides. "I trust mother explained the task at hand?" he gestured to the fallen puppet stage. "But before that, can I pour you an iced tea?" He lifted the glass pitcher and filled a glass, thrusting it toward the confused workman.

Pawel took the glass and looked at the tea inside, a cautious look etched on his face. His eyes shifted left and right, looking around the pink room, catching on the large, lopsided puppet theater off to the side of the room. He stalked toward the broken mass of fabric and pressboard, setting the ice tea down on a nearby table so he could use both hands to inspect the damage.

Dandy frowned at the untouched glass of tea. "Would you prefer a lemonade?" he asked, unclasping his hands in offering. "Or perhaps something a little stronger?"

The large gardener paused, itching gently at the fresh shirt he had put on, undoubtedly at Gloria's behest. He looked over his shoulder to find Dandy suddenly standing uncomfortably close to him and shook his head to decline.

Huffing gently, Dandy took a seat on the stage nearby where most of the theater pieces were heaped. He folded and unfolded his arms in frustration before sliding off from his perch and stomping across the room. Pawel sighed out a breath of relief and began to piece together the splintered boards.

"Cracker? Cookie?" Dandy asked, shoving the tray under Pawel's nose and startling the concentrating man.

"Jesus, kid!" his voice was deep and bit harsher than intended given the circumstances. He patted his chest and adjusted his grip on the boards he had nearly dropped.

Dandy added, unperturbed by the outburst, "The shortbread is delightful. Imported. From Scotland,"

"Of course," Pawel muttered, "Get that out of my face."

Pulling the tray back with a hurt expression that gave way to anger, Dandy slammed the cookies down on the table so hard that they jumped on the plate.

"Look, kid, I'm just trying to do my job," Pawel said, smearing his hairline his with a handkerchief from his back pocket. There was the slightest hint of an old world accent in the man's voice that seemed to shorten the endings on his words. Dandy, having been raised to enunciate clearly, found this fascinating.

"Did mother tell you not to talk to me?" he demanded, his hands tight fists.

"I'll need to make a joist," Pawel said, ignoring the question entirely. He opened the lid of grey, metal toolbox he had carried with him into the room and dug through the various containers within.

Brooding only for a second, Dandy rebounded and took a slow walk around the crouched, working man. "You aren't wearing your knife today," he remarked, disappointment in his voice.

The man stopped digging through the tool chest and sighed before continuing on, determined not to engage with the strange, wealthy manchild.

"Well, if you need one, you can borrow mine!" Dandy pointed to his belt where he'd fashioned a sheath for one of Dora's best cooking knives out of clear tape and an old plastic holster for one of his toy pistols. He brandished the knife and passed it back and forth between his hands before placing it back on his belt.

Pawel shied away from the dangerous looking blade, all the more threatening in the incompetent, porcelain hands of the Mott child. "Does your mother know you have that?"

"I don't need her permission," he stomped his foot, "I've already told you that I'm the man of this house!"

With a slow shake of his head, Pawel began to fix a metal bracket to the broken board. Not accustomed to being dismissed, a flush of color burned on Dandy's face. With renewed determination, the young man dropped to his knees beside the workman and pulled the metal tool chest away, turning it so he could look inside. "I'll help," he insisted.

When Pawel attempted to snatch the case back, Dandy slid it sharply to evade his grasp, spilling the carefully separated contents within. "I  _told_  you I'll help," he said, backing up across the floor even more.

The annoyed man sat back on his heels and rested his large hands on his thighs before fixing Dandy with a hard look of dissatisfaction, often reserved for flagrantly disobedient children.

Starting in his tummy, Dandy felt a thrill in having earned such a stern glare from the seemingly unflappable man. The warning within the gardener's gaze was not lost on the young man, whose smile intensified before it flickered away.

When Pawel moved to stand up, Dandy quickly slid the box back and sprung to his feet, fleeing to the other side of the room where he busied himself by pulling open a chest and hastily, uselessly rearranging the contents. The gardener watched him for a few cool seconds, making sure the boy was well away from him before turning back to the toolbox and slamming the lid shut.

No longer burdened by the rich pest, Pawel finished reconnecting the disjointed board and slid it into place, restoring the puppet theater to its former glory. His task complete, he bent and hefted the toolbox and headed for the french doors that led to the hallway and his freedom from this pink nightmare.

However, before he could reach the exit, Dandy ran to intercept him, holding his arms out to his sides like a barrier. "Wait, you can't go yet," the boy half plead, half demanded. "You haven't finished your drink!"

No matter which direction Pawel attempted to step, Dandy stepped with him, blocking his path. Fed up and embarrassed by the game, the gardener sighed and set the toolbox down, then crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the obnoxious young man to end his foolish charade.

Seeing that the game of cat and mouse was over, Dandy let his arms fall to his sides before his temper flared. "Fine!" he raged, "Go!" storming away.

Pawel picked up his box and headed for the exit, but turned when he heard a grunting and thumping noise from the kid and saw him punching a stone wall with his bare fists. "I hate you!" Dandy shouted into the wall, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" It wasn't until he saw the blood beginning to trickle on the hard surface that Pawel dropped his tool box and ran to stop the kid from his dangerous tantrum.

Seizing Dandy's wrists and easily overpowering him, Pawel pressed the violent youngster's back into the wall to subdue him. Dandy was breathing hard, trapped between the wall and the gardener's hard belly. The scent of grass-clippings, tobacco, and sweat permeated off the larger man, the masculine scent stirring excitement in Dandy as he gave up struggle.

Feeling Dandy relax under his grip, Pawel inspected the busted knuckles on the boy's hands. He didn't want to get blamed for any damage done to Gloria's precious brat. Not letting go of the thin wrists in his grip, Pawel dragged him into the nearby bathroom. Stuffing his hands under Dandy's armpits, he lifted the loose-limbed youth roughly and deposited him onto the counter beside the sink. A strange quiet, accompanied by shallow breathing, overtook the young man.

With surprising grace for such a hulk of a man, Pawel washed the cuts on each of Dandy's hands and inspected them in the bright lighting of the bathroom vanity. He found gauze in mirror cabinet and wrapped the bruised knuckles one hand at a time. Wide eyed, Dandy sucked at his bottom lip, transfixed by the gardener's every movement.

When he was finished, Pawel cautiously laid a heavy hand on Dandy's shoulder and their eyes met momentarily. In that split second, the older man recognized a look of infatuation behind the emotionless eyes. The large, blown pupils and innocent expression of the younger man made his insides twist and plunge in a sickening and all too familiar way. Unsettled, the gardener delivered a short but forceful pat to Dandy's shoulder, removed the kitchen knife from his belt, and made a hasty retreat.

Alone in his playroom, Dandy ran thumbs over the bandages on his knuckles and then slid off the counter. The musty, intoxicating smell lingered in the room, manly and unfamiliar to his sheltered senses. He climbed the platform to his bed and drew the thick, satin curtains that surrounded the mattress before falling into his pillows with a muted thud. Pressing his wounds into the bed, enjoying the warm throbbing pain in his hands and confused by his body's reactions, he ground himself against his favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Tickles, a bunny rabbit.

Downstairs, Pawel stopped by the kitchen to return the knife to Dora. She took it with one eyebrow cocked, "I've been searching everywhere for this."

" _He_  had it."

She slapped the knife onto the counter and shook her head. "That boy is nothing but trouble," she declared, then gave Pawel a hard, knowing look, "You'd better stay away from him, for your own good."

He backed up, nodding and fumbling at the door handle clumsily. It wasn't until he was back outside, starting up the lawnmower, that he felt like he could breathe freely again. When he dared look up at the house, Dandy's silhouette in the playroom window sent an electric wave up his spine and made the thin golden chain carrying the cross that hung around his neck grow unbearably heavy. Pawel put his head back down and put his back into his work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Down the Garden Path**

_**Chapter 3** _

The gardener pulled back the curtain on the small window that looked out on the grounds in his humble but sufficient on-site servant's quarters provided by the Mott family. It was early still, but the unmistakable splash of color shifting around on the terrace could be none other than Dandy Mott, taking his breakfast outside once again. Pawel sighed and scratched at the thinning spot on the top of his head, reluctant to start another day of toiling in the sun while avoiding the grown child of his wealthy employer.

Ever since the incident in the playroom bathroom, the kid had been nipping at his heels, eager to get close to him again. Pawel felt an uncomfortable pull toward the scrubbed pink, polished, pouting young man and wanted to keep a healthy distance. With each passing day, this mission became more and more of a challenge for the overworked, underpaid groundskeeper.

/ / /

Dandy Mott held a pair of opera glasses up to his pinched face, spying on the small structure across the yard where the gardener took up residence. Dora, who lived in the house with mother and him, set his breakfast down with a sigh. "Child, leave that poor man alone. He has enough to worry about without you invading his privacy."

"You said there is no running water in the outdoor servant's quarters," Dandy said, still intent to watch through his ridiculously small binoculars. It was more of a statement than a question and he only paused a second before adding, "Where does Pawel bathe?"

"How is that any of your business?" Dora snapped the opera glasses from his face and gestured to the cut grapefruit and beurre suzette she had set before him. Dandy gave her a furious look that might have terrified a lesser woman. However, Dora had a lifetime of experience with the Mott brat and was unphased by his foolish displays of contempt. "MmHmm," she said when Dandy gave up and picked up the serrated grapefruit spoon and stabbed it into his halved citrus, "that's what I thought." She shook her head and headed back into the house where Mrs. Mott was fretting over her breakfast alone in the elegant dining room.

It startled both the mother and the maid when Dandy slammed his tray down on the heavy mahogany table close to his mother's chair rather than in his normal spot on the opposite side of the long table.

"Dandy!" the joy in Gloria's voice was palpable. She almost rose up out of her chair but remembered her decorum. "Dandy darling, you've come inside."

Dandy glowered at Dora with tightly pursed lips until she made her way back into the kitchen and then turned to Gloria, "Mother, I want to invite the Pawel to dinner." He was precise in his words and he placed an over-sugared spoonful of pink grapefruit pulp in his mouth.

"Who?" the woman was truly baffled.

" _The gardener_ , mother."

"To dinner, Dandy?  _Really?_ " Gloria breathed out as she spoke, " _Inside_  the house?"

Dandy squared his shoulders and brushed at nothing on the shoulder of his sweater vest. "Yes."

"Out of the question, darling, you know we don't dine with the help," Gloria said, as Dora set out a carafe of fresh squeezed orange juice and disappeared back into the kitchen, a place that was a mystery to Dandy and a distant memory for Gloria.

The look in Dandy's eyes was intense as he got up to retrieve his crystal baby bottle that sat at his usual place setting. He sat back down and filled it carefully with juice before screwing the lid on right and placing the nipple to his lips. His name was carved delicately into the silver plate along the side of the bottle and it warmed Gloria to see her son drink from his special container. When he had managed to pull enough from the bottle to satisfy his thirst, Dandy set it down and said in a matter-o-fact voice, "You  _will_  invite Pawel to dinner and he  _will_  attend."

Gloria was troubled by the scabs on his knuckles and the sunburn on his hairline. The sweat on his brow was unnatural and unattractive. "The sun will give you wrinkles before your time, Dandy," she mewled, attempting to touch his temple only to have him evade her touch almost violently. She sighed and drew her hand back slowly, "If I invite this man to dinner, will you stop with your silly infatuation and come inside like a civilized young man?"

"Tonight?" Dandy insisted, a small bounce in his shoulders, "It has to be tonight or I'm not ever coming in the house again."

"Very well," Gloria caved, watching her son shoot his chair backwards as he stood and practically bounded for the foyer. Before he made it to the door she called after him, "But just this one time!"

Dandy took the spiral steps to his room quickly, a determined look on his face.

Gloria stood from her breakfast, her appetite diminished. She looked out the window at the large man digging dead, wet leaves from the bird fountain and shook her head in disgust. Dora entered and picked up Dandy's tray to remove if from the table. "Don't set out the real silver tonight," Gloria said, not bothering to turn away from the window.

"Yes, Mrs. Mott," Dora said, disappearing into the kitchen once more.

/ / /

When Pawel arrived at the back door, Dandy was waiting in a striped blue and white blazer with a creased, silk, pink kerchief in the pocket. His slacks were worn, as always, too high on his

waist with his dress shirt tucked in tightly. A pink bowtie, slightly too large for his slender neck, made him look like a child wearing his father's clothing.

"You're late," Dandy said by way of greeting, giving the expensive watch on his thin wrist a meaningful glance, "Mother likes to start dinner promptly at six, I'm  _sure_ she told you that."

Pawel followed the young man without speaking a word, unsure of why he had been approached by Mrs. Mott earlier in the day with strict instructions to attend a dinner in the house. In all of his years of working for the rich, they never invited him into their homes for a meal. As such, he was uneasy about this invitation that was, in fact, mandatory. All attempts to avoid close proximity with young Dandy had been a waste of time.

In the dining room, Gloria Mott was standing near the window when Dandy walked in and announced, "He's here, mother!" with a triumphant smile as if he had just won a bet.

"Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Mott," Pawel felt the need to say as he hovered uneasily in the doorway to the dining room.

"Nevermind that," Gloria said tersely, taking her seat at the head of the table, "Do sit down."

Dandy sat down on the opposite end of the table, leaving a chair with a place setting for Pawel smack in the middle of one of the long edges of the dining table. He assumed his seat awkwardly, feeling incredibly out of place. As he scooted up to the table, his chair squealed loudly against the stone floor and the noise filled the air in the silent hall. Even in his finest attire, Pawel looked like a pauper in comparison to Dandy's dapper get-up and Gloria's gleaming pearls and perfectly coiffed hair. The gardener hid his hands under the table; he'd run a stiff brush over them before leaving the meager bathroom provided for his use and still hadn't been able to remove all the traces of soil left beneath them.

"What did Dora prepare for us tonight, mother?" Dandy asked, snapping his cloth napkin open and placing it gently over the tops of his thighs.

"Spiced squab and onion compote," Gloria said as Dora emerged from the swing door of the kitchen with plates balanced expertly on her arms.

She served Gloria and Dandy before setting the food, beautifully plated, in front of Pawel. The big man looked at the dish before him with doubtful eyes, gently lifting up one corner of the boney, browned bird with thumb and forefinger, wondering why anyone so rich would choose to eat a pigeon. He let it go quickly when he felt the chill of Gloria's stare on him in his peripheral vision.

"Mother, Mr. Pawel isn't used to expensive, high-quality foods like we are. Even though it is for sure a rare treat, we should have offered something more to his liking. Like cuisine from his heritage!" Dandy stabbed his fork into one side of his bird, viciously pinning it to the plate, then he dragged his knife edge heavily across the meat and bones, sawing his way through. "Like perogies and sausages and thick slices of bread and Grochówka!" He was awkwardly breathless by the end of the sentence, nearling choking at the air in his excitement to show off. He slid his tongue across his cracked lips before he smiled at Pawel like he wanted an award for pronouncing everything properly.

When the big man only blinked at Dandy blankly before digging into his squab, the young man let his fork clatter to the plate in a huff. He'd spent quite some time learning to say everything properly and even called the local butcher to demand help. When Gloria hissed his name he rolled his dark eyes up and shifted himself in his seat before recovering from the disappointment. Pawel seemed content to focus on his food, pushing tender bites of poultry past his lips far too fast after dunking them crudely in the onion compote. Dandy followed suit, even leaning his elbows onto the table as he ate to emulate the large man.

"Dandy Mott," Gloria trilled, "Use your manners at this table or you can go to bed without supper."

He paused. This was Dandy's favorite kind of threat, the kind where he could trounce off to his room and throw himself on his bed pretending to be abused and left to starve. However, tonight, he wanted to be near the fascinating gardener so he pushed himself up off the table obediently but delivered a hateful look to his mother before continuing to eat.

Only the sounds of chewing and the heavy tapping and scraping of silverware against plates and teeth could be heard in the elegant room. The gardener cleared his throat several times into his cloth napkin, eyes shifting from one end of the table to the next, waiting for mother or son to engage in a conversation of some sort.

The continuous ticking of the grand clock in the foyer seemed to get louder and more insistent with each passing moment and Pawel breathed cautiously, for each uncomfortable shift in his body caused his chair to creak and whine. Gloria ate her food in dainty bites, her displeasure with his company painted plainly on her pinched face. Dandy was content to stare at him, barely touching his food at all. Pawel felt sweat gather on his hairline and his scalp prickled.

Finally unable to handle another moment of suffocating dead-air of the room, Pawel cleared his throat once more and lamely attempted to start a conversation. "This food is-"

"So Paul," Gloria interrupted abruptly, a painful smile cracking her face, "Are you a first generation immigrant?"

"Pah-veel, mother!" Dandy snapped, one hand sweeping up past his forehead curls dramatically, "Not Paul!" Gloria gave him a sour glance.

"I came with my uncle when I was a very young child," Pawel said, his mouth full of food. Gloria couldn't handle the sight and had to avert her gaze sharply. The gardener couldn't care less about the sensitive stomach of his host. He was more than certain that he was invited to dinner at the behest of the Mott boy and he didn't intend to entertain the childish man or his mother. He did find the food exceptionally delicious, though. "Thank you for dinner," he said, smearing the grease from the bird off his face with his napkin roughly before dropping the cloth onto the plate in a crumple.

He moved to stand up but Dandy shot up out of his seat first and pointed at him quickly. " _No!_ " he bellowed before collecting himself slightly, "You simply must stay for dessert!" His pleasant yet insistent smile didn't reach his glittering, intense eyes. Pawel felt compelled to stay and slumped back into his chair, causing another squeak on the shiny floor that made the hair raise on his forearms and the back of his neck.

Dora brought out a light chiffon cake, coated with a lemony glaze that made it shine where the dusting of powdered sugar didn't block the light. A syrupy heap of canned fruit gleamed in the middle of the cake and Dora scooped it onto the plates before she cut it, her eyes connecting with Pawel's only once as she handed him an extra large piece of the spongy confection.

Dandy's mouth twitched slightly when Dora served Gloria next and left him for last. He pushed up from the table and walked to the bar located directly to his left. "Can I pour you a drink, Mr. Pawel?" he asked over his shoulder casually as he lifted a decanter of amber liquor as if toasting the room. The big man grunted in approval, his throat suddenly parched.

Dandy poured a snifter of bourbon and held it out at an arm's length to the seated gardener who stared for a moment before getting up and crossing the room to take it from the young man. Dandy's thin fingers brushed Pawel's calloused thumb as the glass changed hands. Pawel felt a stirring in his chest as he returned to his seat and clumsily screeched his chair back into place. He knew when he was being provoked and played with and he wasn't sure if the static energy he felt building inside of him was anger or arousal. Dandy resumed his seat, setting a delicate, crystal baby bottle filled with a fine, light, reddish-brown cognac in front of his plate shamelessly.

Pawel couldn't tear his eyes from the unusual drink container. He watched, his fork frozen halfway between the plate and his mouth, as Dandy placed the rubber nipple to his plush lips and sucked at the alcohol wetly. The glistening peach and moist lump of cake on Pawel's fork slid off its perch and plopped onto his thigh, smearing messily onto the workman's pants.

The gardener shot up from his chair and smeared at the food on his pants with the linen napkin uselessly. "Damn," he said breathlessly before realizing that both sets of eyes on him could possibly see the ill-timed lump in the front of his pants, "Th-thank you for dinner," was all he could manage before he left swiftly through the kitchen.

"Come back!" Dandy shouted, springing up from his chair so fast that it flew backwards to the floor behind him. "Pawel, come back this instant! I command you!"

Gloria pressed at her forehead delicately with her hand as if trying not to faint from the exhaustion of it all. "Dandy," she said with her eyes still closed, the bedlam from her son wearing on her already frazzled nerves, "Calm down, sweetheart. Let him go, he doesn't belong here."

"You don't understand anything, mother!" Dandy said, picking up his plate, dessert and all, and wiping it at the wall where it shattered loudly, cake and fruit smashed into the gold foil wallpaper. "I hate you!" he howled, stomping his foot angrily for emphasis, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" Tears slipped over the boys downy cheeks and his lip quivered in anger before he slammed his fists into his sides violently many times over, undoubtedly bruising his own thighs and hips in the process.

"Darling, don't," Gloria scolded lightly, rising from her chair with great effort. She crossed the room toward her son but stopped short at the bar to pour herself a drink.

"That stupid man ruined my dinner party," the young man said, his temper tantrum momentarily calmed, "Punish him, mother."

Gloria took a long sip from her martini glass with one finger in the air then flicked her eyes to her son, "Just leave that man alone," she floated past him, leaving a wide berth for safety. She paused in the door, her hand expertly balancing her drink and added, "this is why we don't dine with the help," then she retired to her parlor, pulling an elegant metal pill case from her pocket as she dropped gratefully onto her fainting couch.

Dora emerged from the kitchen and looked at the broken plate and food-smeared wall with a deep sigh. Dandy gave her a proud look and folded his arms before spinning on his heels and disappearing up the stairs and into his bedroom.

/ / /

Pawel made it to his humble groundskeeper's home and leaned his back against the door with heavy breath. Everything about that overgrown twerp irritated him but his mind couldn't help but conjure a whole host of scenarios that left him rock hard and deeply ashamed. He was raised in the church and knew better than to entertain such sexually fueled thoughts about another man. He cursed Dandy's pouting lips and inverted toes, his pink ended cheeks, immature wardrobe, and his ruthless attitude. The kid needed a firm hand and his insufferable mother needed to stop babying him.

Most of all, Pawel couldn't take the childish antics of the other man.

Working feverishly to loosen the top buttons of his shirt, he opened the chest at the base of his bed and dug out a bottle of vodka and took a hearty swig. Setting the bottle down heavily on the bedstand, he pulled his shirt all the way off and wadded it up, wiping it across his brow before dropping it to the floor and sitting onto the mattress, the springs squeaking under his weight.

The kid's lips on the nipple of his absurd bottle flashed through his mind as he worked at the buttons of his pants with one clumsy hand, the other brandishing the bottle of vodka. He'd heard the beginning of Dandy's temper tantrum as he was leaving through the kitchen and he wondered what the little shit was doing right now. Probably tearing up his mother's home in a rage. Someone needed to teach the kid a lesson.

He drank another burning gulp of cheap liquor and imagined the little brat squirming over his knee, begging for release, tears spilling down his pouting face. Pawel's free hand rubbed unconsciously over and down his big belly, stubbornly determined not to let his fingers slip past the waistband of his shorts or let his mind venture into forbidden territory.


	4. Chapter 4

**Down the Garden Path**

**Chapter 4**

Dandy Mott was always up early in the morning. His active brain seldom let him sleep late into the day and he enjoyed the stillness in the house in the wee hours while his mother still slept off the previous night's Nembutal stupor.

The morning after the dinner party, Dandy was up even earlier than usual, having spent the night stewing over his failed attempt to impress the large, inscrutable gardener. Mother had called his interest in the workman  _an obsession, a fetish._  As per usual, she didn't understand anything.

The spare keys to the groundskeeper's house hung in the kitchen and Dandy knew that Dora would never let him waltz in there and take them, even though he ought to be able to do anything he wanted in his own house. A large plant on a round pedestal table adorned the center of the foyer and Dandy walked around it slowly, a smile on his face and his arms clasped behind his back contemplatively. He stopped his circling and shoved into it with both hands, sending the planter to the floor. It cracked loudly, shattering and spilling potting soil all across the shining floors.

Dora rushed into the room and stared at the plant and then at Dandy who rocked up on his toes and down again, his hands once more behind his back innocently. "This plant fell," he announced, a prude look on his face, "see to this mess at once!" He gestured the floor with his hand stiffly, standing at his full height.

Dora sighed and put her hands on her hips. "You aren't fooling me, boy," she snapped, "Go cause trouble somewhere else!" She left to get the broom and Dandy crept into the seldom unguarded kitchen and lifted the spare keys to the gardener's house off the wall before strolling out the backdoor in victory.

The morning grass was dewy on his shoes as he tromped through across the yard to the house with confident footsteps. As ever, the waist of his pants was tugged high above his hips and secured with a belt, his shirt tucked in neatly, making him look slightly odd compared to the average man of his age and size.

Dora was always up before the rest of the house and Dandy expected no less from the family groundskeeper. He assumed the man was out working in one of the many garden beds on their massive land or perhaps cleaning the gutters or washing the outdoor windows as he was often busy doing. Standing before the entrance, Dandy stuck the key in the lock and gave it a twist, grinning as he pushed his way inside the impossibly small house the Mott family provided for their outdoor help. The whole place wasn't even as big as his playroom bathroom.

He hadn't ever set foot in the uninteresting little shack of a house before and his mouth pulled into a frown as he looked around the messy, dimly lit space; the smell of fermented alcohol was thick in the air. The house looked even smaller on the inside, with paint stripping on the walls and ramshackle, mismatched furniture that was too large for the cluttered space. To top it off, there was dirt caked on the wooden floor and dishes stacked on the countertops. The gardener's clothing was strewn across the kitchen table.

On the walls, pinned crudely with thumbtacks were old photographs and newspaper clippings. Dandy squinted at them curiously, a few photographs of women looking grim in long dresses, a child with a scarf on his head, and an elderly couple in front of a barn. "Poor people," Dandy muttered, a hint of derision in his voice. In one of the yellowed newspaper clippings, a young, well-built boxer posed with his gloves on, a pair of shorts on his waist and his bare chest was the broadest part of his body. It took the young man a moment to realize that the chiseled youngster in the photograph was the gardener. With a quick hand, he snatched the clipping off the wall and folded it neatly, stuffing it into his front pocket.

He gazed around the front room a little longer, zeroing in on the belt still looped through the overalls on the floor, Dandy located Pawel's interesting knife and slid it off the thick, worn leather, tucking it into the back of his pants with a sly smile. Then he heard a noise that nearly made him jump out of his skin. The ratcheted, deep sound of a snore erupting from the barrel-chested gardener who was, in fact, still soundly sleeping in his bed.

Drawing cautiously near, Dandy held a hand up to his face to protect his nose from the intensifying smell of liquor and stared at the glorious sight before him. Spread out atop his bed was Pawel, wearing nothing but a tattered pair of undershorts and one thick black sock on his right foot. Wooly hair covered his thick body from the base of his neck to the tops of his toes. Dandy was transfixed.

He knew, from years of experience, that hungover people were deep sleepers so he slid closer, the sandy floor making a shushing sound under the soles of his shoes. He stood by the side of the bed, holding his breath in an attempt to be silent as Pawel's breath sawed out noisily and rhythmically in the musty room. Feasting his eyes greedily on the rare and interesting sight, Dandy's eyes darted almost feverishly from the bulky mass in the gardener's shorts to his tree-trunk like thighs, the pleasantly round and taut belly, and the broad chest. There, resting in the furry patch of hair in the middle of Pawel's bust was a golden cross, antique but well maintained.

The young intruder felt as if his stomach was being pulled at from the inside of his body as he watched the slumbering man. An ache grew, starting in his wrists and moving up his arms as he fought the overwhelming urge to reach out and stroke the hair on Pawel's belly. He had never felt this way before and a strange feeling in the base of his spine made his knees wobble. As always, unable to control his impulses, Dandy reached a slow hand out and gently plucked the metal cross up off the expansive chest before him.

He turned it in his hand, his breath hollow and slow despite his thumping heart, his pink lips forming a perfect circle. Pawel coughed suddenly, jerking and muttering in his sleep, frightening Dandy so badly that he dropped the cross and lurched backwards, stumbling over an empty bottle of vodka on the floor.

Pawel cracked one bloodshot eye and sat up quickly, blinking at the Mott brat standing beside his bed in the low light. Dandy had an intense look in his eyes and Pawel met it, then shifted his focus to the young man's outstretched hand which hovered ever closer to his belly. Helplessly hungover and unprepared for the rude awakening,he watched with a heaving chest as slender fingers made contact with his skin, running slowly through the coarse hair.

The gardener was paralyzed by the moment, his breath accelerating as the soft hand caressed him ruthlessly, sliding over the mound of his belly. He felt himself grow heavy and thick in his shorts.

Dandy put one knee on the mattress and added his other hand, rubbing both his palms up to Pawel's chest, a look of calm fascination on his face.

Pawel felt the bed dip under Dandy's added weight and closed his burning eyes, swallowing a lurching feeling in his throat. The alcohol in his system made him feel groggy and heavy-minded. However, beneath the haze of his hangover, warning alarms were ringing in the older man's head. He shook himself violently and caught Dandy's wrists in both his hands, pushing the young man away from him forcefully as he struggled to sit up. "Kurwa!" his voice came out dry and gruff, "What are you doing in here, you little-?"

"You're so hairy!" Dandy exclaimed, the excitement of a child in his voice as he attempted to free himself from Pawel's vice-like grip.

"You have no right to be in here," Pawel said, pushing the kid away harder, letting go of his feeble wrists.

"This house is on my property, I can come in anytime I want to," Dandy said indignantly, eyes brighter than anything else in the room. "Mother and I  _own_  you!"

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Fat headed from drink and fed up with the strange impositions of the ridiculous manchild, Pawel stood up and took hold of the young man's right ear with his thick fingers. Dandy gasped, unsure of what was happening and excited by the touch despite the fact that it made his ear ache and forced him turn his head and rise up on his pigeoned toes awkwardly. "What are you doing?" Dandy demanded, a breathless quality in his voice, his tongue darting out over his lips.

"Out! Get out!" Pawel said, taking wide-set steps to the door, dragging the tiptoed kid with him. "I quit this terrible job!"

Dandy was about to protest when the big man caught a glimpse of his knife stuffed into the back of the boy's pants.

"You rotten little burglar!" Pawel accused, letting go of Dandy's ear and instead slamming the kid into the wall roughly and pressing him into place. He ripped his knife and sheath from the thief's pants and slammed it on the nearby table.

"Give it back!" Dandy said, trying to push away from the wall. In response, Pawel leaned against him even harder, pinning his shoulders in place and running his free hand down over the young man's torso. He used his foot to kick Dandy's legs apart and patted down his thighs, finally reaching around and dipping a hand into each of the kid's pockets, discovering the newspaper clipping.

"That's it," Pawel said, a blinding headache searing through his head, pulsing in his temples.

Pawel lifted him nearly off the ground by the back of his pants, dragging him through the room.

"What are you-what are we going to do?" Dandy asked, his voice just above a whisper, swallowing hard and twisting in an attempt to look into the face of his aggressor.

The big man sat heavily on the bed, pulling the nosey, wealthy, brat down over his lap. "I'm going to do something your daddy would be doing, if you had one." It was a cruel sentiment but Pawel wasn't in the mood to wear the kid-gloves everyone else used on the insufferable rich boy.

Dandy wasn't sure what was happening. He stared at the mighty, thick leg before him, his head just barely sweeping the floor, and ran his hands through the curling back hairs on the gardener's naked calf. Pawel shifted him easily, giving him a shake, but nothing stopped Dandy's wandering, invasive fingers.

Despite his frustration, Pawel was now solid against his shorts as he held the squirming son of his boss over his lap. He reached a hand under the lithe waist on his knee and tore the fancy belt from it's buckle and loosened the linen dress pants enough that they could be shoved down past the globes of Dandy's stark-white ass.

"I've had enough of you," Pawel said, his accent thicker than usual. With a flat, open palm, he struck the kid on the meatiest part of his bottom with all this might and felt Dandy jump, his toes pressing into the floor at the assault. "You spoiled little..." he landed several more heavy swats eliciting sharp, surprised grunts from the skinny young man.

Dandy panted, one hand against the sandy floorboards and the other gripping tight to Pawel's ankle. His mouth hung open and his hips rotated gently and absent-mindedly against the thigh beneath him. For the first time in a very long while, Dandy didn't feel bored at all.

The gardener expected tears from the brat, or, in the very least, furious demands to be released. Instead, Pawel could feel the little knob of Dandy's excitement poking into the side of his thigh. He couldn't believe the infuriating pup was enjoying his chastisement.

This wasn't working, in fact, it suddenly felt very wrong. Pawel pushed the kid off his lap and down to the floor. He stood, trying not to look at the light pink blush from the spanks he had delivered on Dandy's otherwise pale backside . He reached down and gripped the young man by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him through the small room, ushering him roughly out the door, slurring, "Get out,  _bachor_!"

Dandy stumbled, a pout on his lips and his pants caught around his thighs. Pawel slammed and locked the door, leaning against it, his shorts stretched painfully. He shoved urgent fingers past the elastic band and slammed his head back into the wood of the door, pinching his eyes closed and trying to wash the memories of the morning from his mind as he worked.

Dandy got halfway back to the house before he bothered to yank his pants back up over his hips. He didn't fasten them, wandering into the foyer and up the stairs with a flush burning on his face.

Dora was just finishing cleaning up the mess he'd made when she stepped to watch the man stumble past her, his fly open and his shirt a dirty, untucked mess. The little curls on his forehead were loose, sweaty strands hanging down over his eyes as he took to the stairs.

"Now what have you been up to, huh?" She demanded, not at all surprised when the psychotic little bastard didn't even turn his head to acknowledge her. He simply trudged past and up to his bedroom.

Once in his playroom, Dandy heeled out of his shoes and let his pants fall numbly off his legs as he walked the length of the room. He peeled his shirt up, his undershirt stuck to it, discarding the lump of damp clothing on the life-size plastic horse in the corner. He crawled up on his bed and fell face down into the luxurious linens, the flowery scent of the fabric softener mingling with the unfamiliar smell of his own sweat.

He reached a hand back and rubbed it over the curve of his own ass, kneading at the skin over the top of his white underpants. Winded and feverish, he smacked himself a few unsatisfying times before digging his hips into his bed with desperate abandon, breathing hard through his clenched teeth.

All his life, Dandy had sought to gain the upper hand. He'd bullied his nannies to the point of tears, undermined every endeavor of his string of tutors and teachers, took his fury out on his toys when his mother didn't pay him the proper attention, and worked tirelessly to let Dora know that she was worthless in his eyes. He couldn't understand, then, why the complete loss of power he felt when draped across Pawel's thick thighs made a fever ignite beneath the surface of his skin. For the first time, he felt no desire for revenge, only the agonizing urgency to surrender once more to the large man.


	5. chapter 5

**Down the Garden Path**

**Chapter 5**

Pawel watched the dust drift lazily past the bars of sunlight that streamed through the inadequate, poorly hung curtains of his small bedroom. He could still smell the freshly-powered scent of the Mott child in his nostrils. Nonetheless cloudy from the drink, the big man held a well-worn Bible in his hands, one delicate page pressed between his thumb and forefinger as he read a familiar passage. He turned the page and continued, finally sighing and sitting back on the bed with heavy eyelids.

There was no way he could stay here; he was certain that Richie Rich was squealing to his mother about being mistreated. He wondered if she'd send Dora to kick him out or if the police would come and escort him from the premises. He ran a sweaty palm down his face, stopping to massage his eyes and cheeks before pushing off the mattress and onto his aching feet. He dug a pen from the drawer and closed his meaty fingers around it before sitting at the kitchen table and scratching out a letter of resignation.

He took the time to pack his bags before stepping outside, drawing a deep breath of humid air. It was past midday and there didn't seem to be a single rustle in the leaves as the sun made his back and shoulders feel like they were baking in the still and stifling summer heat.

/ / /

Twisting at his torso with a concerned look on his pale and pinkish face, Dandy Mott studied himself in the trifolded mirror that framed the far wall of his mother's bedroom closet, running his hands over his chest and belly. The space smelled rich of his mother's pungent, expensive perfume she ordered from far away and the powder she patted onto her chest each morning. The familiar scent brought no comfort to her son. Instead, he wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes at the neat rows of expensive, leather pumps to his right and the elegantly draped dresses hanging in perfect order to his left. Everything neat and in its perfect place.

The lighting was yellow and moody and Dandy sat down on the round, plush bench in the middle of space; the expensive fabric stretched over too much stuffing in order to maintain its perfect shape, making the cushion stiff and uncomfortable. He examined himself further, admiring his own perfect shape as he sat there in nothing but his underpants and a pair of shoes. He spread his legs toward the mirror, sliding fingers from the pink of his knees to the tender insides of this thighs, and marveled at his hairless body, so different from Pawel's in almost every way. He was skinny and smooth, with indentations and dips in his torso that made him look hollow in places. There was a soft wrinkle of skin in his belly when he sat down and he plucked at it lazily with thumb and forefinger. By contrast, the beast of a gardener was round and full, pelted with fur, scarred and calloused by years of hard work and hard lessons. Even the fine, soft, barely-visible hairs on Dandy's legs were different from the thick, black, curling hair that matted Pawel's limbs.

Strutting back to the mirror, he turned from one side to the next, pushing out his belly as far as it would go, giving himself a pathetically small paunch and drumming on it with both hands, furrowing his brow and sucking on his bottom lip in concentration. He turned and rolled his underpants half-way down his bottom, peering over his shoulder. No color remained from the handful of lousy swats the great big gardener had delivered to his round backside, the only part of him that could boast any plumpness.

He frowned at the white skin there and sighed, running fingers, sticking with sweat, up over his skin. Not even a blush or a small bruise. He sneered at himself in the mirror and yanked his underpants back up, huffing and glaring around the elegant, well-kept space. Dora was driving his mother around town to her doctor's appointment for her special pills.

Dandy was so seldom alone in the house and yet every room made him feel utterly unentertained. The young man pulled a floor-length fur coat from its thick, wooden hanger. He hugged the heavy pelt and ran a hand up the soft hair before pulling it on in a flourish. The silk lining felt cool on his naked shoulders and he was slightly too broad for the fitted seams and the tail of the coat swept softly against the middle of his calves. He pinched the front of the coat closed with his fist and sauntered out of the closet and into his mother's large, elegant, dark bedroom. Her bed always looked unslept in and the gauzy sheers beneath the curtained let only a glow of light into the depressing space. In such dim settings, the gold trim on the mirrors and bedposts lacked the luster such opulent pieces deserved.

Dandy plopped himself down on the padded, shell-shaped stool in front of his mother's vanity and yanked at the drawers with a blank, disinterested expression, revealing well-kept, meticulously organized cosmetics. Brushing a hand through the drawer, upsetting the tubes and cakes, he smashed her brushes into bottles and cracked the powdered bricks of tan-colored eyeshadows. He grasped at a tube of lipstick, her color, an orangish red that lacked vibrancy, much like the tube to the top and inspecting the tip that had taken on the curve of her lip, he smelled the woody pigment. He turned the tube in his hands and then, with a sudden sneer, crumpled the lipcolor against the white clean vanity surface, smearing the oily mess before releasing the plastic applicator in disgust.

As he glared at his own face in the mirror, a hatred overtook him and he stood, shedding the expensive coat and stomping on it as he left the room. The silence of the house was maddening and the young man stormed down the hall, looking for the best thing to destroy, the thing that would make the most noise for the longest time. He wanted to drown out the ticking of the clocks and the hum of the electricity that seemed to assault his ears in gentle but constant waves of quivering, unspent energy.

Fists balled like rocks at the ends of his arms, feet slapping noisily into the floor, he trudged past a window and stopped short. The dark cloud consuming him vanished as he saw, by the garden shed, an orange ball of fluff wander proudly alongside the weatherworn building. A wicked smile unrolled on Dandy's lips and he rushed to his closet. He dressed quickly, stopping to tuck his shirt into this pants with frantic, stiff hands then took the stairs in small leaps.

Dandy walked slowly out into the yard, his breath hitching in his chest, carefully balancing a saucer of cream in his delicate hands. He set the small plate down in the grass and stood back, cupping his mouth and calling, "Here kee, kee, kee!"

When the tabby cat poked its head around the corner, Dandy dropped to his knees in front of the cream, ignoring the fact that his fancy trousers were sitting in the muddy yard. The cat was cautious, staring with large, unblinking eyes, tail tall in the air and tip flicking with anxious curiosity.

Dandy smiled at the beast and spread his arms to gesture at the cream. "Come eat, kitty cat," he offered, trying to control his excitement by pinning his bottom lip in his teeth. The cat continued to study the boy, finally blinking slowly and stretching before approaching with a cocky strut. It was a little on the skinny side but the pink collar with a bow and a bell around its neck and the clean, fluffy pelt of well-kept fur betrayed the fact that it was not a feral stray but a beloved pet.

The cat padded forward, cautious but eager to trust in exchange for the treat on the plate. "What's your name?" he asked with breathless enthusiasm. It dipped a pink tongue into the cream, tense posture and tail low to the ground, keeping sharp eyes on Dandy. He held out one sweating hand to gather the metal tag hanging from the collar when a loud holler from behind him made the cat skitter away suddenly in terror.

"No!" Dandy roared, springing forward on his knees to catch the animal but it eluded his grip. He landed on his chest in the muddy, grassless area behind the shed where the sun seldom shone. The plate of cream beneath him splattered on his shirt. He rose quickly and scrambled after the cat but the creature was too fast and too graceful to be snared and disappeared.

Giving up the chase, he watched the tabby scuttle off into the distance before turning back to Pawel who had caused the racket "How  _dare_  you!" he huffed, puffing out his chest, "I was trying to-trying to-" Hot tears streamed down the young man's contorted face and he stomped at the ground in an attempt to display his deep displeasure with the situation.

Unmoved by the quivering features, Pawel reached down and plucked the ruthless brat up onto his toes by the front of his ruined shirt. "I wont let you hurt that animal," he barked sternly, ignoring the creased indignation on Dandy's messy, tear-puffed face.

"I wasn't going…" Dandy hiccuped but grew quiet as he looked up into the face of his captor. He was used to looks of disgust and displeasure from Dora and his mother. Mostly, he saw pure exhaustion and defeat in the faces of his caretakers. The unbridled fury registering on the gardener's leathery mug made Dandy's heart race. He slipped his tongue over his lips and reached up to clasp his hands on the strong forearm that held him in place, fearful that the moment would pass too quickly and the big man would let him go.

Deep breaths shuddered out of Pawel's nose as he stared into the the face of the young man, searching for ignorance or innocence and finding a deficit of both. He dropped the pathetic creature into the grass. Dandy landed on the soft turf dramatically, as if he'd been thrown, looking up at Pawel and punching the ground angrily with both fists in a fit of rage.

Pawel turned back to his gardener's home and went to collect his things. Half-way there, he could feel the footsteps at his heels and rounded his shoulders, knowing the devious bastard was right behind him. He slammed through the front door and gripped his suitcases, turning quickly and nearly knocking into Dandy's dour face.

"What's this?" the young man asked, a pinched look of surprise on his face. He gestured to the suitcases wildly, his eyes prickling with new tears that bulged at the edge of his lower lids but did not spill. "You are leaving? You cannot leave! I forbid it!"

The big man knocked hard into Dandy, in an attempt to make the brat gang way. The young man only shifted his weight and stood with his fists on his hips.

"If you leave..." the boy's voice was low and serious but far from ominous. "I'll tell mother you touched me...in bad places."

The workman blinked a few times at the haughty man; he felt his palms grow sweaty against the leather handles of his well-worn suitcases.

"I'll tell her you touched me and you'll go to jail," Dandy informed him smugly.

Pawel stared at the pompous little rich kid who was smirking pridefully, happy with the enraged look on the gardener's face. They stared at each other a moment longer and then Pawel stooped to set his cases down, pushing all the air out of his lungs in exhaustion.

"Excellent!" Dandy announced contently as he tried to push his way past the gardener, into his abode.

"Hold on there, bub," Pawel said, clasping the kid by the back of the neck and yanking him back out and into the sunshine. "I don't think so. Go home."

Dandy looked frustrated and huffed, but didn't twist to get himself out of Pawel's grip. Instead, he leaned into it. "Well I can't go home looking like this, what would mother say?" he complained, looking down at the cream curdling on his chest, and the mud on his knees. Pawel caught Dandy by the front of his shirt, yanking him closer and inspecting the smudged dirt on his butter-smooth skin and clear eyes, puffy with tears.

"This won't do," Pawel slowly and almost reluctantly agreed, clicking his tongue in feigned disappointment. In his head, Pawel knew he ought to sink inside and shut the door but something in his gut overpowered him. "We'll need to get you cleaned up, kiddo," he heard himself say, his thumb brushed gently at Dandy's cheek before he quickly let him go with a slight push, "follow me."

Pawel left his suitcases behind and headed for the big house. As Dandy followed him, sucking his teeth curiously, the workman knew he was heading down the path of evil. Unsavory ideas ran through his brain as he led the Mott boy to the outdoor bathroom attached to the back of the Mott mansion for his use.

"I've never been in here," Dandy wondered aloud as they entered the frillless space. There was a toilet and a sink. The concrete floor sloped toward the big copper drain and a rusted, basic faucet stuck out of the unfinished wall. "Is this where you bathe?"

The big metal basin that served as the tub made a loud noise as Pawel slid it over the floor and under the faucet, which screeched as the knob was twisted. There were several seconds of tapping in the pipes before a yellowish gush of water spewed forth into the makeshift tub.

Scoffing, Dandy folded his arms in the dim, humid room. "I'm not getting in that disgusting bucket, if that is what you think," he informed the other man. "My bathroom is pristine and perfect. I have a massive bathtub with golden faucets and lush soaps." His lip pulled into a sneer as he looked at the filthy toilet and the single light bulb swinging above their heads.

"Strip," Pawel said, the basin was nearly full.

Sucking in a full breath, Dandy rocked one foot back then pulled it forward again, struggling between two desires. Pawel gave him a stern glare and the boy quickly began to pull at his soiled clothing. He had no modesty as he stood naked before the gardener, his feet spread slightly and his hands free at his sides.

"In," Pawel said, gesturing at the basin. The boy walked to the tub and lifted one leg, dipping a toe into the water.

With a groan, he yanked his foot back out and complained, "It's not warm enough! I can't get in with the water lik-"

A wave of water cascaded to the concrete floor and glugged down the drain as Pawel pushed Dandy into the tub. The young man gasped, sputtering water, and gripped at the sides of the basin desperately but was unable to stand with one big hand on his shoulder. Pawel muttered a foreign curse word as Dandy thrashed in the tub, splashing water all over the room dramatically and soaking the other man from the chest down. He pulled his shirt off and let the sopping cloth smack the floor heavily before turning back to pin the kid more firmly in place.

"Stop it," Pawel's face was knit tight from exertion and annoyance and he gripped Dandy on both shoulders and held him still. The young man finally relaxed, his thin arms sinking in the water like rocks and his frame shrinking against the cold metal bottom of the tub in submission. He looked up at Pawel with large eyes, shivering slightly. "Good," the gardener growled.

A rough brush was soon employed, sloughing at the dirt on the young man's skin, rending his chalky complexion pink. Dandy complied with each of Pawel's commands, turning in the water, lifting limbs, and dipping his head beneath the surface when instructed. The gardener only hesitated for a few nauseating seconds, his fingers lingering against the smooth skin, before lathering the kid's most private areas with military efficiency. Dandy was rubbed ruthlessly with a yellowish-orange bar of soap that was cheap but effective and the scent burned in his nostrils.

Pawel stood up, his lower back aching from bending at an unusual angle over the round basin. He looked down at Dandy and saw a shivering mess, scrawny in the water, his teeth vibrating in the cold and his lips taking on a bluish tint. "Toughen up, kid," the hairy man scolded but reached for one of the towels that hung on the hooks to the side wall and held it open with a hint of urgency. "Come on," he beckoned.

Dandy stood, water dripping noisily off his goose-pimpled skin, and lurched from the basin and into the towel with desperate need. The gardener wrapped his arms around the younger man, folding him into a terrycloth embrace. Dandy's shoulders shook violently as loud, dramatic sobs hitched in his chest. Pawel froze, taken aback by the sudden outburst, before slowly but steadily rubbing his towel-covered hands up and down the kid's obliques and over his head.

Finally, a quiet befell the boy and Pawel felt two cold, narrow hands rest upon his naked belly. He stopped rubbing at wet hair on Dandy's head, the kid's face obscured by the cloth. It was a rare moment of silence from the usually, constantly moving and chattering manchild. Pawel felt energy in the stillness; he held his palms flat against the sides of Dandy's head and matched his rhythmic breathing, as he had learned to do many years ago with the spooked horses on his uncle's ranch. Soon, the shivering kid relaxed against him, letting Pawel support his weight almost entirely, his thin body slack and cool.

"You're not leaving, Pawel," Dandy said, his voice small and muffled by the towel and the large man's warm chest.

Pawel said nothing but tightened his grip.


End file.
